Her Father's Keeper
by Victory-Starr
Summary: Injured and accused of a murder he didn't commit, Gary Hobson is on the run. Yet there is only one person can help him stay ahead of police.
1. A Long Night

**_Her Father's Keeper_  
1. A Long Night

* * *

**

It was past midnight when they came, but I was very much awake. I was sitting on the couch, in the silence, with my arms wrapped around my knees. Waiting, as I had far too many times before.

They came up the stairs, and I heard them coming. My body stiffened and I drew in a deep, shuddering breath. _Please, God,_ I thought, _Please don't let it be bad this time. Please let him be okay, please don't let him be... _

I stood up in the semi-darkness, straightening my green blouse and waiting for the knock on the door. Even so, I jumped when it came. I opened the door and saw the serious, unfamiliar face of an African-American man who appeared to be in his mid thirties. My eyes dropped to the uniform he wore, and numbly I noticed the way light glinted off his badge.

"Arianna Hobson?" The officer asked. I saw sympathy in his eyes and I forced myself to keep breathing evenly. I had been through this so many times, one would think I'd finally get used to it, but I knew I never would. I was always afraid each time would be the last.

"Yes," I said, my voice trembling a little despite my efforts to seem totally calm. "its daddy — it's my father, isn't it?"

The officer exchanged a look with his partner, a blonde, blue-eyed female officer. "Yes, Miss Hobson," The female officer said, her voice gentle. "Your father has been involved in..."

"How is he?" There was only one thing I wanted to know. She didn't tell me what my father had been involved in — I already knew all too well. I had the headline memorized, as I always did: "CEO of Kravitz Computers Found Murdered"

Again, the two officers looked at each other, their expressions disturbed. Their faces began to blur before my eyes, and I asked quietly, "He's dead, isn't he?" I had been afraid of this for so long — most of my life, really.

"No!" The blonde officer said quickly. Then she hesitated. "We ... we don't think so, anyway." She sighed. "Miss Hobson, you need to come with us. We'll explain on the way to the station."

I grabbed my jacket and turned off the light in a daze. Behind me, the cat meowed, but I ignored him. _Shut up, you creep,_ I told him silently. _This is all your fault, anyway._

As we headed down the stairs, the blond police officer kept giving me disturbed glances. "How old are you, Miss Hobson?" She asked, trying to distract me from the current situation. I should know what she was doing — I've had plenty of experience with concerned grown-ups trying to reassure me.

"I'm thirteen," I replied. "My name is Arianna Marissa Hobson and my birthday is June third. Where is my father? Or don't you know?"

"We don't know," The officer admitted. She shot her partner a glance — I was getting tired of that — and he gave her a slight nod. She turned back to me just as we stepped through the front door of McGinty's and out into the bitterly cold night. Stars sparkled over our heads like tiny pieces of broken glass scattered on a velvet curtain.

"Arianna, I'm Officer Kate Allison, and this is my partner, David Ross," She said. "Your — your father was seen at the scene of a crime. A murder. He was seen only briefly, because he ran. Right now, your father is our primary suspect in the murder of Charles Dove."

I stared at her, hoping against hope that I had heard wrong. _My father — Daddy? A murder suspect?_ I tried in vain to swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. _If there was a murder,_ I realized, _that means he failed. And he ran — oh, daddy, why did you run?_

"Arianna — do you mind if we call you Arianna?" Officer Ross asked. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, "Arianna, we need you to tell us about your dad — how he's been acting recently, what he did today. We need to know why he went to the home of Charlie Dove."

Charlie Dove. The CEO of Kravitz Computers. I could tell them, but they would never believe me. If I even tried to explain it would only make things worse, so I just climbed into the police car.

"Please." Officer Allison looked at me with large, sincere blue eyes. "Please, Arianna, tell us about your father."

Tell us about your father? I could tell them about him, about Gary Hobson. I could tell them that he knew my favorite color, my favorite flower, favorite gemstone, favorite food, favorite movie, and favorite song. I could tell them how he liked to French-braid my hair and clip it with my prettiest barrette. I could tell them how he used to take me out for walks on cold days, when I was very small, and let me wear his leather jacket, which always smelled like cinnamon from the chewing gum he kept in the pocket. I could tell them how he got up extra early on school mornings so he could make me blueberry pancakes or oatmeal with extra raisins before the Paper arrived.

It wouldn't do any good. I was old enough to realize that, old enough to know that nearly every criminal, no matter how psychotic, has a sobbing mother or wife or girlfriend or daughter to assure the police that "he would _never_ do something like that — he's such a _sweet_ boy!"

So I didn't tell them, about my daddy or the cat or that darned newspaper. "I'm not talking," I told them very softly, "until y-you tell me e-everything abou, about wh-what happened." Like my father, I always stuttered when I was nervous. I also smiled like him, talked like him and unconsciously imitated many of his nervous habits. I never minded any of these things because I _wanted_ to be just like daddy.

Officer Allison let out a slow breath. "We don't have all the details just yet," She said; I wasn't sure whether to believe her. "Once we get back to the station, we'll try to dig them up for you."

I didn't feel like saying "thank you", so I just leaned back against the seat and thought about daddy. He was forty-nine; it always shocked me to realize that, because he looked so young, boyish really. He still had that smooth All-American face that had long been drawing female glances; his eyes, much like mine, were a muddy shade of green and his hair was very thick and dark, showing no signs of thinning or graying. I had blondish-brown hair, but in most other ways I took after daddy — tall and lanky, with the same puppy-dog eyes, same smile, and same stutter.

"Is ... is your mother around, Arianna?" Officer Ross asked, his eyes momentarily flitting to the rear-view mirror. I wanted to tell him to watch the road, but I bit my tongue.

"My mother died two days after I was born," I replied. "I thought you people could look up things like that."

Neither of the officers seemed to know what to say. I rubbed my eyes and exhaled, feeling as if I had been holding my breath for hours. I should be more polite to the officers — they were just doing their job — but I was frightened, make that terrified out of my wits, and trying desperately to hide it.

_Daddy, where are you?_ I suddenly found myself fighting back tears as I imagined my gentle, soft-spoken father, who spent his days trying to help other people, crouched in an alley somewhere, pursued by police and undoubtedly haunted by the reality of his failure.

I wondered if he was scared, if he was hurting. I wondered why he had run, why he hadn't been able to prevent the tragedy.

There was complete silence in the car during the remainder of the ride to the police station. When we arrived, the officers wordlessly escorted me inside; David Ross walked away, presumably to find out more about daddy, and Kate Allison stayed with me. Glancing at her, I noticed that she was probably in her late thirties, and rather pretty. Her eyes were her best feature, meaning that she and I had something in common.

In ten or fifteen minutes, Officer Ross came walking back toward us. "I talked to Andrews," He said to Officer Allison, then addressed me. "Have a seat, Miss Hobson." I was glad he had reverted to the more formal title — it made him sound slightly less patronizing.

I sat — practically collapsed into a chair — and clasped my hands in my lap in a futile attempt to keep them from shaking so badly. "What happened?" I asked.

Officer Ross rubbed his forehead and hesitated long enough that I wanted to strangle him. "The police received an anonymous call warning them that something was going to happen at Dove's house," He explained. "They got there just in time to hear shots coming from inside. They got set up outside and they saw Hobson — they saw your father standing over Charlie Dove, holding a gun."

I closed my eyes in disbelief and horror. _Dear God, daddy, how are you going to get yourself out of this one? They practically caught you red-handed!_

Ross continued, "Your dad bolted out the back door when he saw the police. An officer was just rounding the house, and he fired —"

"Oh, dear God," I whispered, somehow knowing what was coming next.

Officer Ross's brown eyes, full of sympathy, fixed on mine. "He's pretty sure the ... the fugitive was hit." This he said to Allison as much as to me. "There was a trail of blood into a nearby alley, but he must have gotten the bleeding stopped, because there was no sign of him after that. It was like he dropped off the face of the earth."

_Daddy. Daddy is hurt._ I couldn't stop the tears this time; they blurred my eyes until Officer Ross's face dissolved from my vision, and when I blinked they ran down my cheeks. My father had been injured before — more times than I could count — but never had he been so alone, with no one to give him medical attention, no place to turn. What if he died out there, alone, lying on the cold concrete?

"We've told you what we know, Arianna," Officer Allison said gently. "Now why don't you do the same?"

I blinked a couple times, trying to clear my vision. "I'm not going to tell you that I know he would never do anything like that because he's too gentle and good and sweet. I know it won't make any difference and I know that you guys hear it a lot anyway."

Kate Allison brushed back a wayward strand of blonde hair. "You don't think he did it, though, do you, Arianna?"

I looked into her eyes, held her gaze without flinching. "I _know_ he didn't do it."

"Do you 'know' this just because you think your dad is not capable of killing someone, or because you have a real, concrete reason?" Officer Ross asked. I dropped my eyes, suddenly finding the floor quite fascinating. _Both,_ I thought, but didn't say it out loud.

"Arianna, for your father's sake, you need to tell us."

_It's for my father's sake that I _can't_ tell you,_ I thought, but I wasn't about to say that either. I sat and stared at the floor, concentrating on a single spot on the tile until the rest of the world melted away. It was a trick I had perfected while sitting in hospital waiting rooms, hoping for news of daddy.

Officer Ross said something to me, but I couldn't make out what it was, and I honestly didn't care. After an eternity of silence, I looked up, breaking the spell. "Are you sure it was daddy?" I already knew the answer, but I had to ask anyway.

Officer Ross nodded. "I'm afraid so, Arianna. Two of the officers recognized him — they'd picked him up for questioning a few weeks back." I remembered that. Some woman had accused him of trying to kidnap her child, when in reality he had prevented the little girl from toddling in front of a semi truck.

"Your dad sure manages to get himself into ... odd situations a lot," Officer Ross said. I was smart enough to realize it wasn't an idle comment. He was trying to trick me into saying something.

"Yeah, well ..." I shrugged. "Some people have a lousy sense of timing."

Behind Officer Ross, someone snorted loudly. A heavyset, dark-haired man shifted his cup of coffee to his left hand and said, "Gary Hobson is so darn elusive it's impossible to get anything out of him that makes sense. He's worse than a darn politician, and it looks like the kid here is a chip off the old block."

The man sent me an icy glare, and I returned it. Nothing makes me angry more quickly than hearing someone talk bad about daddy. "Maybe he just ends up in the wrong place at the wrong time," I said, paraphrasing daddy's favorite cliché.

The big, dark-haired man snorted again. "Looks like abstinence runs in the family," He practically spat. My anger was being replaced by hurt and fear, and I felt my eyes filling with tears again.

"Go easy on her, Andrews," Kate Allison put in. "She's just had a big shock. I doubt I'd feel like talking either, if I was her."

Andrews rolled his dark eyes. I didn't like him, and I could tell the feeling was very much mutual. "I think she knows more than she's telling," He said. "She's got that same guilty look Hobson always has."

_You have no idea, Andrews,_ I thought, but stayed silent. I had learned at an early age that I was never, _ever_ to speak of the Paper, except to Chuck Fishman or Marissa Brown. Chuck was rarely around — he lived in LA with his wife Jade and their three children, two boys and a girl — but Marissa still helped daddy run his tavern, McGinty's. Marissa, gentle, blind Marissa, was the closest thing to a mother that I had ever known. She and her husband, Emmett, had one child, a ten-year-old daughter named Elaine.

Marissa! I had to let her know what was happening. She would be so worried. "Can I use a phone, or ... something? I need to call Marissa."

Kate Allison looked thoughtfully at David Ross, and then nodded at me. "You can use my phone," She said. "Who is Marissa?"

"Marissa Brown. She's a family friend and she helps run McGinty's," I explained, taking the cell phone that Officer Allison handed me. The phone was one of those extremely short ones; those things have always driven me crazy, but right now it didn't seem to matter that much.

Marissa's husband picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, Emmett." I ran my fingers through my hair, noticing that my hands were still shaking. "Is Marissa there? I really need to talk to her."

"Sure, Arianna. Just a minute, let me get her." I heard the concern in Emmett's voice, but thankfully he didn't ask any questions.

After a brief silence, I heard Marissa's gentle voice. "Hello?"

"Hey, Marissa, i-it's Arianna. I-I'm at — at the police st-station."

Marissa sighed, the weary sigh of a woman who had received similar calls too many times. "It's Gary, isn't it?" She asked.

"Yes." I fought back a sob, hoping she wouldn't be able to tell how scared I was. Fat chance — Marissa could always tell what I was feeling just from the tone of my voice. "Marissa, th-they think that daddy k-killed someone. They don't know where h-he is."

I heard Marissa's sharp intake of breath, then a brief silence. "There's something you're not telling me," She said finally.

"He's hurt," I replied, and started crying again. "A policeman shot him when he ran. Marissa, what if he —"

"It never helps to dwell on 'what ifs', Arianna," Marissa reminded me in a gentle, soothing voice. "I'll be there soon. Keep your chin up, Ari. You know Gary wouldn't want you to be so worried."

"I know." I drew in a deep, shuddery breath.

Marissa hesitated, and I could sense her next question coming before she spoke it. "Did it have something to do with the —"

"I'll tell you all about it once you get here," I said quickly, knowing that Allison and Ross were listening to every word I said.

Marissa took the hint. "Okay, Arianna. Emmett and I will be there in a few minutes. You hang on."

"I will." I hung up and handed the tiny phone back to Officer Allison. "Thank you," I said softly.

"You're welcome." She gave me a small smile and tucked the phone into her pocket. "Marissa must be a pretty good friend," She commented.

I shrugged. "She's the closest thing to a mother I've ever had. She and daddy — I mean, she and my dad were good friends long before I was ever b-born."

"What happened to your mother?" Officer Allison asked.

"When I was born, my mom had to have an emergency C-section. She got an infection, died two days later." I sighed. "Don't say you're sorry. I've been better off than most kids. Daddy's always m-made up f-for me n-not having a m-mom."

Officer Allison looked away; I could see the conflicting emotions on her face. She believed daddy was guilty — I could tell — but she also felt sorry for me. I could almost hear her thinking, 'What kind of creep would commit murder knowing how much it was going to hurt his child?'

Marissa arrived soon; it felt so good just to let her pull me into a warm hug. "It will be all right, Ari," She whispered. Marissa never calls me 'Ari', except when daddy is in trouble and she knows I'm scared.

"Can I go home now?" I asked Officer Kate Allison.

She gave me another sympathetic smile. "You haven't been very cooperative, Arianna," She pointed out.

"If she's anything like her dad, and Andrews seems to think she is, we can't expect much cooperation," David Ross put in, giving me a slightly annoyed glance. I didn't say anything; neither did Marissa.

"I guess we can let you go home for tonight," Officer Allison relented, seeing how exhausted I was. "But just so you know, Arianna, we will have to talk to you again. If you know anything, we're going to have to find out what it is." Her tone was soft but clearly said that she wasn't kidding.

I shrugged but didn't reply. Marissa put an arm around me and held Emmett's hand with her free one, and we all walked out of the police station together.

Marissa and Emmett offered to let me stay with them, but I insisted on staying home. Marissa didn't argue much — I think she knew why I wanted to stay. She just kissed Emmett on the cheek and quietly said she was going to stay with me. Emmett nodded. "I'll make sure Lainey's up in time for school in the morning," He promised. That was what they usually called their daughter — Lainey.

It was nearly 2:30 AM by the time I finally collapsed into bed. Frightening images flashed through my mind — Daddy alone, hurting, maybe dying. I didn't think I would be able to fall asleep, but my exhaustion took over and I finally drifted off.


	2. Taking the Bullet

**_Her Father's Keeper  
_2. Taking the Bullet**

* * *

I sat straight up in bed, gasping for breath, my entire body shaking. It was chilly in the loft above McGinty's restaurant, but I was soaked in sweat. I had been dreaming about daddy — cornered by faceless men carrying guns, trapped with no escape. Something had awakened me just as one of the faceless men pulled the trigger.

Trying to calm my breathing, I listened and heard exactly what I had hoped to hear — a meow outside the door. I jumped out of bed, tripping over daddy's hockey stick, which he had left lying on the floor.

The cat was there, just as it was every morning; it meowed once and ran between my legs. I could hear Marissa stirring behind me as I picked up the newspaper, my heart racing.

Nothing interesting on the front page; I began to flip through the Paper. I momentarily stopped breathing when I spotted the headline I had been looking for.

"Murder Suspect Killed After Standoff", the headline read. I began to read the article, whispering the words to myself. "Forty-nine-year-old Gary Hobson, a Chicago tavern owner, was killed by police Friday morning after a two-hour standoff. Police were getting ready to breathe a sigh of relief — Hobson had been talked into coming out of the building — when tragedy struck: the suspect reached into his pocket and was shot once in the chest by a police officer.

"Hobson died before an ambulance could he summoned to the scene. Sadly, he didn't even have a gun — all police found in his pocket was a wallet."

I fell silent, scanning the rest of the story, looking for the location and the time. I found both and quickly glanced at my watch — it was 6:36 AM, and daddy would be killed at 9:21 AM. If there had been a two-hour standoff...

I ran for the bedroom, rummaged quickly through my chest of drawers, and pulled out blue jeans and a purple sweatshirt. I got dressed quickly, then sat down on the unmade bed and laced up my hiking boots. It was a cold, crisp day, so I grabbed my blue jacket out of the closet.

Marissa was awake when I got out of the bedroom. "Arianna, what's going on?" She asked. "Did the Paper come?"

"Yeah, it did." I finished shrugging into my coat and gave Marissa a quick hug. "Marissa, I have to go. I know where daddy is, but the police are going to know too if I don't change things. There's cereal on the counter and milk in the refrigerator; spoons are in the first drawer and bowls in the cabinet next to the sink. I love you."

"I love you too, Arianna." Marissa gently squeezed my hand. "You be careful, all right?"

"I will." I had a feeling of déjà vu, then realized why — this was a conversation I had heard between daddy and Marissa countless times. Now, it was up to me — all up to me.

As I raced down the stairs and out the back door of McGinty's, the reality of the situation suddenly hit me. Daddy had been doing this for years, but this was _me_ — Arianna Hobson, just a terrified 13-year-old. I wasn't strong like my father. My father — the man whose life was suddenly in my hands.

"Oh, God, please help me," I whispered as I jogged down the street. I had been nervously looking around me ever since I left McGinty's; trying to make sure no one was following me. I didn't see anyone.

I pulled out the Paper, looked at the story again as I ran. Daddy was in an abandoned building — there were many of those in Chicago, but the Paper told me the exact location of this one, and I knew exactly how to get there.

I wasn't sure how to approach the building — wasn't sure how my father would react. I glanced at my watch — 6:53. I had made good time, but I still had to move quickly, very quickly.

The building was dark and vacant, with boarded-up windows and graffiti-covered walls. Taking a deep breath, I stuck the Paper back into my back pocket and leaned close to a shattered window. "Daddy?" I called softly. "Daddy, its Arianna."

After a brief silence, my father's voice replied, "Arianna?"

He sounded confused and upset, but it was so good just to hear his voice — that gentle voice that had sung me to sleep when I was small and had spoken words of comfort to me all my life. The same voice that daily shouted warnings to save lives.

Daddy opened the door, which creaked loudly on rusted hinges, and looked at me in open-mouthed disbelief. As I stepped inside, I saw how tired he looked — there were dark circles under his eyes and his dark hair was rumpled.

"Arianna — how did you know I was here?" Daddy asked, leaning wearily against the wall. Before I could answer, I spotted the blood on his clothes, and my eyes filled with tears.

Daddy caught on quickly and stepped toward me, pulling me into a warm embrace. Even after all he'd been through, he still smelled faintly like cinnamon chewing gum.

"I'm all right, Arianna," He whispered against my hair. "It's just my shoulder — didn't hit anything vital." For the first time, I realized he was only hugging me with one arm.

I was accustomed to being worried about my father — worry came as a natural result of any involvement with soft-spoken, clean-cut Gary Hobson — but I usually knew he could take care of himself. At nearly fifty, my father still had a trim, athletic build and was in better shape than most 30-year-olds I knew. Right now, he just looked so ... so vulnerable, so tired. It scared me, really scared me.

"Daddy, you've got to get out of here," I said softly. "the Paper came this morning and it told me you would be discovered here. You don't have much time — you have to go."

He didn't argue — just nodded wearily and ran his hand over his bloodstained tan jacket. "You've got to get out of here too," He said. "It won't be good if they find you here."

I put my arms around him, careful to avoid the injured shoulder, and then kissed his unshaven cheek. "I love you so much," I whispered.

"I love you too. Now go."

With probably only moments to spare, we both ran — me heading back to McGinty's, and daddy off to someplace unknown, hopefully someplace safe. I took the Paper out of my back pocket and opened it up, fully expecting to see the article gone. Instead, I saw a headline that made me skid to a stop.

"Murder Suspect Killed Evading Arrest: Gary Hobson, 49, was killed Friday morning as he ran from police. Hobson was suspected of killing Charles Dove, CEO of ..."

I had seen enough; I reversed direction, heading back the way I had come. _God,_ I prayed, _please let me make it; please don't let them kill him... _

My heart pounded in my ears and my breath came in shuddering gasps. I could hear sirens and shouts, shouts to surrender, to get your arms in the air, NOW!

Daddy wasn't going to stop. I knew he wasn't going to stop because the Paper had said he wouldn't. He wasn't going to stop, and they were going to kill him.

As it turned out, blind luck saved the life of Gary Hobson — I came barreling out of an alley and found myself directly between my fleeing father and a redheaded policeman with a pistol. Evidently the policeman had pulled the trigger just as I appeared, because I heard the shot and felt a burning pain along my right arm at the same time. I was spun around by the bullet, but before I fell, I saw enough to know that daddy had escaped.

"Oh, my God," I heard a shaking voice behind me. "I've shot a kid." The policeman was pale and obviously in shot. I could have almost felt sorry for him if it wasn't for the knowledge that he would have killed my father without my intervention.

"You hang on, honey," The red-haired policeman said. "Don't try to get up. You're going to be okay." He hadn't tried to move me, which meant he couldn't have clearly seen my face. I was turned away from him, and I remained silent as the officer picked up his radio. "I need an ambulance here, now! I've accidentally shot a civilian, a girl in her teens. Doesn't appear critical, but she's blee — hey!"

I jumped up and ran through the alley, pain tearing through my arm with every step. The police officer tried to follow, but I easily lost him — he obviously wasn't familiar with the area, and I was. I'd been here with daddy more than once; he often took me along for his easier "saves". As a result, I was pretty familiar with the city of Chicago.

When I finally considered it safe, I stopped and leaned against the wall of a building, my breath coming in great sobbing gasps. I was nearly blinded by pain, but a look at the Paper told me I had accomplished my mission. Daddy wouldn't be captured — not today, anyway. There was only a small article about my father's narrow escape; in the article, it mentioned the "yet unidentified" teenage girl who had been shot but had run away before police could summon help. I wondered whether I was "unidentified" because police didn't know who I was, or because they just didn't want to say. I hoped it was the former.

Somehow, despite the pain, I managed to make it back to McGinty's; somehow, I managed to slip upstairs unnoticed. Tossing the Paper on the bed, I headed straight for the bathroom, where I eased off my jacket and sweatshirt, gasping at the pain.

The bullet had hit me in the upper arm — just a flesh wound, but it hurt like the dickens and it was bleeding pretty badly. I was thankful that Marissa was downstairs and hadn't noticed my entrance, because it really would have frightened her to hear her muffled moans.

After I managed to get the bleeding stopped, I poured hydrogen peroxide over the wound, gingerly wiped it dry, and carefully bandaged it. I took two Tylenol for the pain, and then pulled on a black sweatshirt, wincing as I accidentally jarred my arm.

I wiped up all traces of blood from the bathroom, and then shoved my bloody jacket and sweatshirt into a garbage bag.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. A glance in the mirror showed that my face was pale, so I put on some foundation, blush and lip gloss. I rarely wore makeup, but it did have its uses. I looked much more human with a little color in my face.

I had just returned from tossing my bloody clothes into the dumpster when I heard a timid knock on my door. "Arianna?" Marissa's voice called softly.

"Hey, Marissa, come in." When she was seated on the couch beside me, I spoke without waiting for her to ask. "I prevented it. He got away, for now."

Marissa was about to ask a question when someone knocked on the door. I stood up, trying to ignore the sudden dizziness when I did, and went to open it. I had lost blood — too much blood. The Tylenol was beginning to kick in a little, but my arm was still screaming bloody murder.

"Hi, Arianna," Officer Kate Allison greeted me. For some reason, I wasn't a bit surprised to see her. Officer David Ross stood beside her, his expression grim. I could tell they were looking me over.

"I get the feeling you two are going to come in whether I want you to or not, so ... you might as well get it over with," I said, stepping aside to let them enter.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" Ross asked as soon as he and Allison were inside and the door was closed.

I shot him an irritated glance. "Officer Ross, you seem like an intelligent person. Did you _really_ think I would go to school today?"

He shrugged slightly, his expression clearly answering that question. They were trying to get me to reveal something, but I wasn't taking the bait.

"We almost caught your dad, Arianna," Kate Allison put in. "He got away from us — with a little help."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"A teenage girl showed up all the sudden, stepped in front of a bullet meant for your father. She was hit, but jumped up and ran of before an ambulance could get there."

"Have you found her yet? If you do, bring her by here. I have a big hug for her." Somehow I managed to keep my expression calm.

"This girl fit your description," Officer Ross said carefully. "Fit it very well, Arianna."

"Oh, wow, that's so amazing! I'm 5'4", blonde-brown and green-eyed. I'm sure there are no other girls in the entire city who look l-like that!" I inwardly winced over the stutter. _Hopefully,_ I thought, _they won't think anything of it._

"What I'm wondering," Ross said thoughtfully, "is, what other blonde-brown, green-eyed teenage girl would have a reason to risk her life for your father?"

"Officer Ross." I placed every bit of exasperation I could muster into those two words. "Do I look like someone who just got shot?"

He sighed, blew out a long breath. "No," He admitted. "I just can't figure it out."

"Ever considered the possibility that some poor street kid might have just turned up in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Marissa asked quietly. Allison and Ross seemed to suddenly remember she was there.

Kate Allison sighed. "Dave, this isn't getting us anywhere. We might as well get back to the station." As the two of them rose, Officer Allison gave me a stern look. "We're going to be back, Arianna."

"Glad tidings of great joy," I replied sarcastically. "I'll be looking forward to it, Officer Allison."

When we were certain they were gone, Marissa turned her sightless eyes in my direction. "It was you, wasn't it? Oh, Arianna, why didn't you tell me you got hurt?"

"I didn't have time. Anyway, it's not bad — just a flesh wound in my right arm. Thank God I'm left-handed." I tried to laugh, although my entire body was beginning to shake from a combination of stress, pain and blood loss. "Just try to remember not to grab my upper right arm."

"Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor?" Marissa asked her voice tinged with worry.

"I'm fine, Marissa, really." I tried to sound convincing even though I was feeling far from 'fine'. "Besides, if I went to the doctor, they'd know it was me." I glanced at my watch. "You'd better get back downstairs."

As Marissa stood, I gently hugged her with my left arm. She hugged me back, careful of my injury. "You know something, Arianna Hobson?" She whispered. "You are just like your father."

I smiled despite my pain and my fear and my weariness. "Marissa," I replied, "you have just given me the best compliment I could imagine."

A few minutes after Marissa was gone, someone knocked on the door. I groaned inwardly, got up off the couch and opened the door. Kate Allison's face greeted me. "Hey," She said. "Me again. I think I forgot my jacket."

Sure enough, it was hanging on the back of the rocking chair daddy bought for my mom just before I was born. Officer Allison got her jacket and turned to go, but in turning, she ran into me — specifically, into my right arm.

Bright lights exploded in my head and I fell to my knees. When I could breathe again, I sensed that Officer Curtis was kneeling beside me. "So it _was_ you," She muttered. I could hear concern and annoyance mixed in her voice. "I'll give you this, Arianna Hobson — you're tough. I don't know how you hid it as long as you did." She placed a hand on my left arm. "Can you walk? Come on, Arianna, we need to get you to a hospital."

"No," I gasped. "No hospital."

Officer Allison gave me an exasperated glance. "How did your father contact you, Arianna?"

"He didn't." I met her eyes.

Kate Allison sighed and rubbed her face absent-mindedly. "Listen, Arianna, you lied to us earlier. How can you expect me to believe you now?"

"I didn't say it wasn't me," I reminded her. The pain was easing off a little bit, but I could tell that the wound had started bleeding again. "I just asked Officer Ross if I looked like a person who had just been shot."

"But you _would_ lie to save your father, wouldn't you?" Kate asked, staring intently into my face.

I stared back at her and returned the question. _"You_ would lie to save your father, wouldn't you?"

"My father isn't a murderer." Kate Allison's face flushed a little.

"Neither is mine." I held her gaze until she finally looked away.

The door opened, and David Ross stepped in. "Kate, what on earth is taking you so —" He stopped when he saw me kneeling on the floor with Officer Allison beside me. "What ...?"

"David, we've got to get Arianna to the hospital," Kate Allison said firmly. She answered the unspoken question on his face. "Yes, it was her. We can chew her butt off for it later, but right now she needs medical attention."

"No," I protested, but Kate Allison sent me an icy glare. When I saw blood beginning to drip off my fingers, I knew I was licked. As much as I hated to admit it, I _did_ need some help.


	3. A Midnight Visitor

**_Her Father's Keeper_  
3. A Midnight Visitor**

* * *

The ride to the hospital passed by in a blur — I felt every bump we hit, but not much else. Officers Ross and Allison carried on a conversation, but their voices were little more than background noise.

Once the two officers had gotten me into the ER waiting room, Officer Ross borrowed Kate Allison's cell phone to call Andrews. I quickly understood that Ross didn't have a cell phone, because Allison was berating him about constantly using hers.

"Hey, Andrews," Ross said into the phone. "I'm at the ER. Kate and I had to bring in that kid, Arianna Hobson. Yeah, it was her. She really had us fooled ..." A long pause. "Yes, sir. Uh, sir, I don't know if that's a good idea right now ... okay, if you want to."

Officer Ross handed the phone back to Officer Allison. "Andrews is coming here," He said. "He wants to have a talk with our intriguing Miss Hobson here."

_Oh, boy,_ I thought wryly. Andrews never had liked me, and he was really going to hate me now. Well, he could talk and yell and cuss all he wanted — he might be able to make a teenage gunshot victim cry, but he wouldn't make me talk about my father, or the Paper, or the stupid cat for that matter.

Kate Allison pursed her lips unhappily. "I don't think that's a good idea," She said. "Any fool could see that Arianna Hobson is in no shape to be questioned."

"My sentiments exactly," I put in. Kate Allison and David Ross both glared at me.

Andrews showed up within a few minutes, making me wonder how faithfully he had followed the speed limits that policemen were so careful about enforcing.

"So, Miss Hobson," Andrews greeted with a nasty little smile. "It _was_ you who got in the way. You almost had everyone fooled for a while there." When I failed to reply, Andrews got right down to business. "How did your father contact you? Pay phone, cell phone, what?"

"He didn't contact me." _For some reason,_ I thought, _it seems like I've had this conversation before._

"Riiight." Andrews snorted. "Then how did you know exactly where to find him, Miss Hobson? Did a little fairy lead you there?"

I looked him straight in the eye and knew I shouldn't say what I was thinking, but I just couldn't resist. "Maybe I was just in the right place at the right time," I said.

For a split second, I thought Andrews was going to hit me; Ross must have thought so too, because he took a step forward. To Andrews' credit, he managed to control his temper. "Don't give me that, Miss Hobson," He said his voice icy and very precise.

I knew I shouldn't further antagonize the man, but I was getting sick of this whole darn thing. "I just had a feeling," I said, using another of my father's preferred clichés. "You know how that is, don't you, Andrews?"

His face practically turned purple and he spun away from me in an obvious attempt to keep from wringing my neck. "This is no kid," He snarled at Ross and Allison. "This is a darn clone of Gary Hobson!"

"Andrews, Andrews," Kate Allison said in a calming voice. "You know how I found out it was her? I forgot my jacket, went back to get it, bumped into her right arm on the way out. I can only imagine how that hurt. In that moment, she wasn't tough — she was just a hurt little kid."

Kate Allison's words must have helped, at least a little, because Andrews' face was considerably less red when he turned back toward me.

"Come on, Miss Hobson," He coaxed, changing tactics. "You know you aren't helping your dad by hiding him like this. It's cold out there and he's alone and injured. How long do you think he'll last?"

My head was spinning and all the colors in the room were beginning to run together before my eyes. "I plead the fifth amendment," I said, and fell off my chair.

Mercifully, I landed on my left side, but it still hurt like heck. I never really lost consciousness, but they must have thought I did, because I lay very still with my eyes closed, waiting for the pain to subside.

"Dang it," Andrews said gruffly. "Just when I've decided to hate her, she does something to make me feel sorry for her. Hobson's just like that, you know — just when I had my mind made up that he was a dangerous criminal, he'd show up in the hospital having fallen out of a tree while retrieving a cat for a little girl, or having inhaled smoke while saving a kid from a fire."

He hesitated, and I could tell he was staring at me, even though my eyes were closed. Must be a 'sixth sense' I inherited from Marissa. "I guess," Andrews said finally, "that this latest episode pretty much proves what kind of man Hobson is."

_No!_ I thought angrily. _No, it doesn't prove anything except that my father is willing to risk his life to try to save others!_

Dimly I realized that Kate Allison had been calling for a doctor. Hands lifted me, placed me on some kind of stretcher, cut away the sleeve of my shirt. I was given a shot, and it made everything fade in and out. Somewhere along the way I picked up a nifty new bandage and a bunch of stitches.

When I woke up, I was confused and woozy — I knew immediately that I was in the hospital, but I hadn't been hospitalized since I got pneumonia in first grade.

"Daddy?" I whispered, still drowsy and disoriented from whatever they had given me. "Daddy, where are you?" My voice sounded small and lost.

Kate Allison's face swam into view, and when I saw her, it all came flooding back — the accusations, the gunshots, everything. Every wall I had built around myself — my stoicism, my sarcastic attitude — melted away, and suddenly I was crying, crying hard. Suddenly I was nothing more than a little girl who wanted her daddy.

After using my left hand to wipe my face, I managed to say, "You won't let them kill him, will you?" When Kate Allison didn't reply, I added, "They were going to kill him. That's why I had to be there. They were going to kill him."

Andrews cleared his throat; I hadn't known he was in the room, but I didn't really care any more. "How can you be so certain they were going to kill him, Miss Hobson?" Andrews asked his voice surprisingly gentle. "They'll do everything they can to bring him back alive. Firing on him is a last resort."

"Like this was?" I asked wearily, gesturing to my right arm. "He wasn't threatening anybody, he was just running. What if he runs again?"

No one seemed to know what to say to that. Ross and Andrews left after a few more minutes, but Officer Allison said she would stay with me until Marissa arrived. I could only assume one of the officers had called Marissa.

"Andrews was telling the truth, Arianna," Kate Allison said quietly. "It's just that, in your father's case, he is considered armed and very dangerous. He was pretty much caught red-handed in the act of committing murder, and now he's free on the streets of Chicago. Can you see why they are desperate to bring him in?"

Rather than replying, I asked desperately, "Can't you even consider another possibility? Maybe he was walking by, heard a commotion, and went in to try to help." Oh, I wished I could tell her the truth, but I knew it would just make the situation worse.

Officer Allison sighed. "Why did he have the gun then, Arianna? And why did he run when the police arrived?"

Something suddenly dawned on me. "Officer Allison, are you _sure_ my father was shot by a policeman? There were several shots from inside the house, but I heard that Charlie Dove was only shot once. If my dad had already been shot, he would have been confused and in a great deal of pain, as I can attest to. That would explain why he ran."

"What about the gun?"

I sighed. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he heard a commotion, went in to help, but got there too late. The shooter saw him, fired another shot that hit him. They struggled over the gun; daddy got it away and the shooter bolted out the back door, hearing the sirens. M-my dad was l-left holding the g-gun and going into shock. He was confused; s-so he r-ran."

"That's pretty far-fetched, Arianna."

"Maybe it is, but it's possible, isn't it? You have to admit that much stranger things have happened. It's possible."

Kate Allison didn't reply. I could see that she wasn't anywhere near convinced; she just didn't want to argue about it any more.

With strict warnings against using my right arm or staying on my feet too long or not taking the prescription he gave me, the doctor finally agreed to release me. It was just past 1 PM when I was wheeled out of the hospital; just 6½ hours since I had awakened that morning, but it seemed like a lifetime.

"Please, can I go home?" I asked Officer Allison, who was still at the hospital despite the fact that Marissa had arrived more than twenty minutes ago. "I just want to go home. Marissa can take care of me."

Kate Allison thoughtfully considered this for a moment. "Arianna, I know you want to go home, but how can I be sure you won't go looking for your father again? The doctor knows what he's talking about. A gunshot wound is serious — you need rest."

"I know I do." Marissa and Officer Allison helped me out of the wheelchair and into the back of the police car. I took a moment to catch my breath, and then made Kate Allison a lawyer-style promise, complete with fine print. "As things stand now, I have no reason to disobey the doctor's orders. Unless an unforeseen situation comes up, I promise to stay home and take it easy."

"From anybody but a Hobson, that promise might actually mean something," Kate Allison muttered. "With you Hobson's, though, it seems that your entire lives are a series of 'unforeseen situations'."

"Have you been talking to Andrews?" Marissa asked. Officer Allison nodded, a little sheepishly.

"What I've heard has made me wonder how on _earth_ one man manages to get himself into so much trouble, and how such a trait could be hereditary. I mean, he seems to have passed it on to his daughter."

_I could tell you, my dear Officer Allison, but you would never believe me,_ I thought. _It all has to do with a cat and a newspaper, and a man so good-hearted he can't bear to pass up the opportunity to help someone. Caring too much is something else he seems to have passed on to his daughter._

There had been times — like yesterday — when I had cursed the cat and the newspaper, but I was proud of my father, proud of what he did with the knowledge entrusted to him. I was eight years old when daddy told me about the Paper, and ever since then, I've helped him out in every way I can.

Reluctantly — and as she said, against her better judgment — Officer Allison let me go home, but only after making Marissa promise to take good care of me. "Don't let her do anything crazy," Kate Allison instructed after dropping Marissa and me off at McGinty's.

Marissa smiled. "I'll do my best," She replied. "Where Arianna is concerned, though, I'm not going to make you any promises. She's too much like her father — stubborn as a mule when she sets her mind to something." Marissa's smile turned sad.

Kate Allison didn't seem to know what to say to that. I saw sadness in her blue eyes. At the door, she turned and asked suddenly, "Arianna, did your father have any reason to kill Charlie Dove?"

"No." I shook my head firmly. "I don't think he had ever met the man until ... y-yesterday."

Kate nodded a thoughtful expression on her face. "You take care of that arm," She told me, then turned and left. I waited until the sound of her footsteps had died away, and then spoke to Marissa.

"You want to know how daddy's doing, don't you?" When my question was met by a nod, I said, "He's been shot, as they suspected — he was hit in the shoulder. He said he was fine, but there was blood all over his jacket. Marissa, he's alone out there — it's so cold and he's hurt. I'm scared. I'm scared he's going to die."

Marissa put her arms around me and waited until my body stopped shaking. "Gary is strong," She said softly. "He went through something like this a few years before you were born, Arianna."

"Yes — Scanlon." I had heard the story before, from Chuck and Marissa — daddy didn't like to talk about it. "I know, but he was younger then, and he wasn't injured. He's so alone out there."

"Have faith, Arianna," Marissa whispered, as she had many times before. "Just have faith. There isn't anything we can do, except pray — not until the Paper comes tomorrow, anyway."

I spent the rest of the day sitting around and worrying about daddy. While I was watching TV, the cat jumped up in my lap and began to purr. I glared at Cat — it was his fault daddy was in this fix in the first place — but eventually I gave in and began to pet him. "I don't need you right now, Cat," I groused. "Why don't you get out there and keep daddy company? Make sure he doesn't get too lonely?" The cat's only response was a small "meow".

"Okay, okay. Stay here if you want, fleabag. Just make sure to bring the Paper in the morning, and it better have good news!" I shook a threatening finger in Cat's face. He looked at me, undisturbed.

Marissa stayed with me again that night; just before dark, she took a cab to her house to get some clothes and to tell her husband and daughter good-night. I felt bad about keeping Marissa away from her family, but I knew I could never talk her into letting me stay here alone, especially now that I had been shot.

The prescription pain medication I had been given made me drowsy, so I went to bed around 9 PM, sleeping, as I had the night before, in my father's bed. Marissa again took my smaller bed, which was in the living room. Daddy's bed still smelled faintly like him — cinnamon and Old Spice.

"Daddy, I miss you," I whispered just before drifting off to sleep. "Please take care of yourself."

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, I was awakened by a faint sound. For a second I thought it was the cat, but he was still curled up at the foot of the bed. I held my breath, listening, and I heard a soft footstep.

Before I had a chance to grab for the hockey stick lying next to the bed, a voice whispered out of the darkness.

"Arianna?"

I shot out of bed and into my father's arms, my joy at hearing his voice overcoming the pain I felt when I hugged him. After a moment I leaned back to look up into his face — the full moon streamed through the window and illuminated the room.

"Daddy?" I whispered. "Why did you come here? It's dangerous — what if they were watching?"

"I know." He exhaled slowly and ran his fingers through his tousled dark hair. "I had to come, Arianna — I had to tell you what happened." He looked tired, so tired, and I could feel him trembling slightly.

"I failed." His voice was soft and full of pain. "I got sidetracked and I didn't get there in time. I showed up on the scene too late to keep Dove's ex-wife from killing him." He paused, and I remained silent, knowing he would tell me the entire story in his own time. "She knew I'd seen her," He said. "She fired and I felt the bullet hit my shoulder. She would have killed me if I hadn't gotten the gun away.

"She heard the sirens before I did — I was in sh-shock, I guess — and she r-ran out the back door. That, uh, left me holding a gun and st-standing over a dead body. When I saw the p-police, I realized — I realized how the scene must look. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I just — I just r-ran."

"It's okay," I whispered. "It's all right, Daddy."

He pulled a gun from the waistband of his faded jeans and carefully placed it on the bed. "The murder weapon," He explained. "I thought about just throwing it away somewhere, but then it occurred to me that it must have Dove's ex-wife's fingerprints on it. Wrap it up in something and give it to the police."

We both knew he'd have to leave before dawn, but it was just 1 AM — there was still time for him to get some sleep. Surprised, as I was, that our conversation hadn't awakened Marissa, daddy told me to let her sleep.

Wearily, he took off his shoes, curled up under the covers and was asleep almost instantly. Just looking at him was enough to almost break my heart. He looked so young and innocent while asleep.

I awakened daddy just before 5 AM; I wanted to get a good look at his shoulder before he left. My fingers brushed his forehead and I gasped at the heat radiating from his skin. He was trembling and looked disoriented.

"Daddy, you're sick," I told him. "You have a fever. I hope your shoulder isn't getting infected." I helped him out of his blood-encrusted jacket and shirt, thankful he hadn't noticed that I was only using my left arm.

His shoulder was, indeed, infected — I bathed the wound in hot water, and then poured peroxide over it. On the way to get some clean fabric with which to bandage the wound, I swallowed a couple more pain pills. My arm was throbbing like crazy.

When I was done bandaging daddy's arm, I pressed my bottle of antibiotics into his hand. "Here, take these. They'll help with the infection. One in the morning, one in the evening."

Daddy squinted at the label of the medicine bottle. When he saw that the prescription was made out to me, and very recent, he looked up at me. "Arianna, what ...?"

I gave him a wry little smile; I had hoped to hide my injury from him. "You remember when you were running from the police yesterday, and one of them fired at you? I kinda got in the way. It's not bad, though — just a flesh wound in my right arm."

"Oh, Ari ..." For a second, I thought daddy might faint. Then he hugged me hard. "Why did you come back?"

"The Paper."

"The Paper — but Arianna, you know I wouldn't have wanted you to risk your live to keep me from g-getting captured. I mean, it's not — it's not the end of the world i-if I get taken into custody."

"You weren't going to be taken into custody, daddy," I told him gently. His gorgeous mud-green eyes widened a little.

"Oh ..."

"You want to take a shower and get on some warmer clothes?" I asked, changing the subject. "There's still time, but you'd better hurry. We need to get you out of here while it's still dark."

I helped him cover his bandage with a plastic bag, and he quickly showered, dressed in warm clean clothes, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He looked much better when he was through, but his face was still very pale and his eyes still had that haunted look.

"Here." I plopped a Cubs baseball cap on top of his damp, freshly combed dark hair. I placed the back of my hand against his forehead and was pleased to find that his fever had dropped.

Within 25 or 30 minutes, the sky was going to brighten as the sun neared the horizon. Daddy and I both knew he had to leave, but when we gingerly hugged each other for the last time, neither of us wanted to let go.

Finally, daddy stepped back and grinned at me — that sweet, all-American-boy smile that had long ago captured my mother's heart. "Take care of the cat," He said. "I love you, Arianna."

"I love you too, daddy." I tried valiantly to keep from crying, but it didn't work. "Take care of yourself." I handed him the bag of food and bottled water that I had prepared.

He kissed me on the cheek, and then he was gone, leaving only the faint scent of cinnamon and Old Spice.


	4. Her Father's Keeper

**Her Father's Keeper**

**4. Her Father's Keeper

* * *

**

I wanted to sit on the bed and cry the rest of the morning away, but that wouldn't help the situation one bit, so I set about tidying up the room, removing every trace of evidence that daddy had been there. I washed his clothes, except the blood-soaked shirt and jacket, which I disposed of the same way I had gotten rid of my own bloody clothes.

It was nearly dawn by the time I finished straightening up; Marissa awakened right about the time it got light. "I didn't expect you up so early, Arianna," She said, stretching and yawning. "I must have really been tired; I slept like a rock."

"Yes, I noticed." I laughed. "I've been up for ... a while, and I've walked through here several times. You never stirred."

Marissa's face had gone still, and I could almost see her nose twitching as she sniffed the air. "Gary was here," She commented quietly. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"H-he told me not to. Said to l-let you sleep."

Marissa sighed. "That's Gary for you — he's suffering from a gunshot wound and on the run from the police, but he's worried about me getting enough sleep." She turned her head toward me. "How's he doing, Arianna?"

"He looks — tired. More tired than I've ever seen him. He has an infection in his shoulder, too. He took a shower and that helped bring down the fever, but I'm still worried. I gave him my antibiotics; maybe that will help."

Marissa ran her fingers through her dark, shiny hair. I could see her concern, for both daddy and me. "We'd better get you more antibiotics," was all she said.

"No." I shook my head forcefully, momentarily forgetting that Marissa couldn't see me. "I'd have to get a new prescription, which means I'd have to explain what happened to the bottle they gave me. I don't think they'd believe that the cat ate it." Cat looked at me and meowed his agreement.

"I guess you have a point." Marissa still sounded worried.

Suddenly, I remembered the Paper. Glancing at my watch, I gasped. "Marissa, it's past seven and the cat hasn't brought the Paper! What if he doesn't bring it today?"

I looked at the couch, where Cat had been sitting only moments before, but he was gone. Within a few minutes, I heard the familiar "meow-plop" sequence outside the door. "Guess he just needed a reminder," I mumbled as I went to get the Paper.

When I returned, it was with a much more somber attitude. "Marissa, how can I contact Officer Ross or Officer Allison?"

"Just call the police station and ask for them, I guess. Why?"

"Because I have to tell them where daddy is." I headed for the phone.

"Arianna, what on earth —"

"He's going to die if I don't, Marissa!" I exclaimed. "He's going to die from hypothermia. I don't want him to get captured any more than you do, but at least he'll be alive."

Just before picking up the phone, I hesitated, mumbling to myself. "The article says he isn't going to die until tonight ... daddy told me who really killed Charlie Dove. Maybe I can at least keep him from being the only suspect."

I didn't need to call, because the police officers knocked on the door before I could even dial the number. "Morning, Miss Hobson," Officer Ross greeted. "Ready to talk to us now?"

"Oh, I'll talk, but not about my father. I know who really killed Charlie Dove." I paused for a moment to let that sink in, and then added, "His ex-wife. She ran from the scene before police could arrive."

"And you know this ... how?" Officer Ross sounded skeptical, to say the least.

"Call it a woman's intuition," I replied a little sarcastically. "I just know. Come on, can't you guys figure out whether she was there? Can't Crime Scene Investigation or forensics or whatever find some evidence?"

Allison and Ross looked at each other thoughtfully. "We'll get them looking," Officer Allison said finally, "but I can't promise you anything, Arianna."

"Just get to looking," I said with more optimism than I felt. "You'll find something."

Wondering how they would respond to what I was about to do, I reached behind me and carefully pulled out the gun, wrapped in paper towels. "Here's your murder weapon," I said, handing it gingerly to Officer Allison. "If you don't find Dove's ex-wife's fingerprints on that, I will be very much surprised."

Officer Ross looked at me in disbelief. "How on earth did you get that gun?"

"A little birdie gave it to me." I grinned a little. Officer Ross glared at me.

"If this _is _the murder weapon, and we _do _find the lady's fingerprints on it, then we'll have something to think about," Officer Allison put in. "However, the fact remains that your father was seen standing over Charles Dove, holding this gun. Dove's ex-wife wasn't seen anywhere near the area."

"Yes, but considering their relationship with Dove, which person would you expect to kill him — Gary Hobson, who'd never met the man before in his life, or this woman who went through a bitter divorce from him?"

"You never had a motive for Gary killing Dove," Marissa added quietly. "Just circumstantial evidence. Both of you know that every bit as well as I do."

Officer Ross didn't reply, just looked thoughtfully at the gun. "We'll have forensics take a look at this," He said. "If the fingerprints are there, your dad will cease to be our primary suspect, but that's about all I can promise you."

"Thank you," I said softly. "Thank you v-very much."

When they were gone, Marissa turned toward me and spoke with a worried note in her voice. "Arianna, you didn't tell them where Gary is. How much time does he have?"

I glanced at my watch. "It's nearly 8 AM right now, and daddy won't die until around 8:30 PM. He'll be discovered a little less than an hour later." I sighed. "I'm just hoping forensics can find something to get him off the hook. Can I borrow your cell phone?"

"Sure." Marissa handed it to me. "Mind telling me why?"

"I'm going to where daddy is — to where he'll be by tonight, anyway. Hopefully I can find him. I'm taking him some broth and blankets, but if he's in bad shape, and I expect him to be, I'm going to call the police. Hopefully I've set in motion the process that will clear daddy of the charges, and right now I'm not sure it matters so much whether he's in custody or not."

Marissa nodded. "Be careful, Arianna." Then she smiled, a little wistfully. "It was smart of Gary to give you that gun."

"Yeah." I smiled to myself, despite my concern over daddy.

Working quickly, I gathered up some blankets and stuffed them into a trash bag. I headed out the door carrying the bag of blankets in one hand and a thermos full of hot chicken broth in the other. The police might follow me, but right now I didn't really care.

Daddy was there, in the place where he would die if I didn't change things. He was half-sitting, half-lying against a wall, his eyes closed and his face ashen. He didn't hear me approach, so I knelt in front of him and spoke softly. "Daddy?"

"Arianna?" My father's voice sounded rough and weak. He was shivering and his face, when I touched it, was very hot. "How did you find me?"

"The Paper again." I tried to smile at him. "Daddy, I'm going to have to call the police and tell them you're here." He tried to protest, but I placed a finger against his lips. "Shhh. You're g-going to die if you don't get some medical attention."

I wrapped the blankets around my father and helped him sip the chicken broth. I then sat down beside him, letting him rest his head on my shoulder. His eyes drifted closed — he looked so tired, like he could fall asleep and never wake up. That was what I was afraid of.

Taking out the cell phone Marissa had let me borrow, I dialed the number I had memorized from the phone book. A woman answered, and I asked for Officer Allison, adding, "Tell her it's Arianna Hobson and I urgently need to talk to her."

Officer Allison came on the phone in less than a minute. She sounded out of breath. "Arianna, where are you?"

I gave her my location, holding the phone with my shoulder as I helped daddy take a few more sips of broth. "My dad is here too," I added matter-of-factly. "You have to get an ambulance here. He's in bad shape."

"Don't you worry; an ambulance is on its way." She paused briefly and added, "Arianna, you might want to know that we did find Dove's ex-wife's fingerprints on the gun, and that it was the murder weapon. We also found a friend of the ex-wife who's willing to testify that she talked about killing Dove the day before the murder."

"Thank God," I whispered, leaning my head against the cold brick wall behind me. "Oh, thank God."

While I was waiting for the ambulance to arrive, took the Paper out of my back pocket and looked at it. The headline brought a smile to my face, but I was surprised to see a photo along with the story — a photo of me and my father sitting just as we were now, with my arm around him and his head on my shoulder. Looks like the ambulance is going to be accompanied by a reporter or two, I observed, but didn't really care. Just so long as daddy was all right.

Sirens blaring, the vehicles pulled up next to the alley — an ambulance, a police car, maybe more than one police car, and of course, an alert reporter.

Paramedics came running with a stretcher and reluctantly I had to disentangle myself from the blankets and step away. Weakly, daddy tried to protest as his shivering body was placed on the stretcher, and I smiled a little sadly. My father never changed.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Kate Allison. To my surprise, she gave me a hug. "You did the right thing, Arianna. Your dad will be okay now, thanks to you."

Everything started catching up to me and my legs almost gave away. Officer Allison helped me sit down and placed the back of her hand against my forehead. "You've got a fever. Have you been taking your antibiotics?"

"No," I admitted. "I gave them to daddy when he gave me the gun. Evidently they weren't enough."

The ambulance had already pulled away, sirens blaring, so Allison and Ross took me to the hospital in their squad car. I was treated and given a new prescription for antibiotics, with strict instructions to take them this time!

Marissa and Emmett showed up before long; I gave Marissa her cell phone and she called Chuck to let him know what was happening. I had forgotten about Chuck, but apparently Marissa had been keeping him updated the entire time.

"Miss Hobson?" A doctor stepped into view, and I stood up so quickly that my head spun. Officer Ross grabbed my left arm to steady me.

"Your father's sleeping right now," The doctor explained. "He has a pretty bad infection and paired with the hypothermia ... well, he wouldn't have lasted much longer. Fortunately, we got to him in time, and with some rest and medicine, he's going to be fine."

I went in to see daddy; his face was still pale but he was no longer shivering and he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. When I brushed a gentle kiss across his forehead, his face was only warm, not blistering as it had been earlier.

When I got back out to the waiting room, Andrews was there; he looked at me a little sheepishly and cleared his throat. "We've got some pretty darning evidence against Kim Harris now — she's Dove's ex-wife. Looks like the charges against your dad will be dropped. Maybe this'll teach him not to stick his nose in other people's business."

_Fat chance, _I thought with a slight grin. _The day Gary Hobson manages to keep his nose out of other people's business will be the day hell has a hard freeze!_

"We will need your dad to testify," Andrews continued. "I know he won't want to, but he has to. For now, we're gonna leave him alone, let him recover. I kinda doubt he'd want to talk to me right now." He gave me a half-grin and left.

As it turned out, daddy never did have to testify — Kim Harris hung herself in jail long before her case ever came to trial. I was released from the hospital only a few hours after I arrived, and daddy was released two days later. I had never been as happy as I was when daddy and I got to go home and return to a normal life.

As normal as life can get, anyway, for the daughter of a guy who gets tomorrow's newspaper today.

* * *

_All disclaimers apply. Arianna and this story were created by Katerina17 (edit: now __**katriel1987**__). I'm using them with her generous consent._


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